


on your skin

by zauberer_sirin



Series: Quick & Dirty [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Future Fic, Light Angst, Melancholy, Sharing Clothes, daisy leaves the team again (who can blame her?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 15:57:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14288379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: Coulson has to borrow clothes from Daisy.





	on your skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skyepilot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/gifts).



Her safehouse is the barest he’s seen in a long time. A cot, instead of a bed. Bags ready and packed, just in case.

He looks down at himself, his shirt torn and cut, there’s even a bullet hole.

Daisy puts a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Sit here” and helps him out of his jacket. It hurts.

She pulls a small bag she has next to the pillow, filled with all sorts of first aid kit items. Coulson can see bandages and glue for sutures, bottles of those bone-healing pills she used the last time she left SHIELD. It’s a feeling of deja-vu, except he never knew what kind of life she led in all those months after Hive.

Daisy helps him out of his shirt next and he winces and can’t stop a groan of pain. Daisy whispers sorry as her hands clean up the mess of blood and scratches on his stomach, his side, the skin over his ribs turning quickly to purple.

“I’m sorry, if I had known SHIELD was on the case, I’d have… I wouldn’t have interfered.”

“You didn’t interfered, you helped,” Coulson points out.

He would have died, maybe. He was reckless, he knows. Daisy doesn’t point that out. He wonders if she thinks it’s because she left. Coulson wonders if that’s actually true.

“You’re fine,” Daisy says, checking his torso once more. “Probably a shower would make you more good than medicine. But I’m sorry…”

She looks around. Coulson notices a bathroom, but the shower is covered in boxes and the cord has been torn from the wall.

“I’ll try to find some clothes for you,” she says.

“Painkillers?”

“I definitely have painkillers.”

She starts going through her backpacks, turning her back to Coulson. He feels like he is spying, staring intently, memorizing her movements, so he won’t forget what it looks like to have her in his life.

She finds a red-ish sweater and hands it to Coulson.

“This sweater is a bit big for me, it might not be too tight for you,” she says. Coulson wonders what kind of idea she has of his body, if she thinks he’s so buff or something. They are both more or less the same height, too. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want you to get cold.”

He vaguely remembers this piece of clothing, remembers seeing Daisy in it at some point. She must have grabbed it before she left - this time she didn’t have to leave in secret, this time everyone knew.

It’s a bit tight on the shoulders but not too much; Daisy’s shoulders have gotten considerably broader with the years, thanks to all the muscle she’s put on. And well, he has never had a particularly bulky body. It’s not too uncomfortable to wear her clothes.

“Okay?” she asks.

“Fine. Thanks.”

She gestures for him to lie down. “Rest a bit,” she says, pulling a tragically thin blanket over his body. “I’ll let the team know you’re okay and set up a rendezvous point.”

She’s already taking out her laptop from another of those bags. 

Coulson lies down, her cheek pressed against the pillow. The cheat pillow sheet that smells of sweat and isolation. Lack of light. Daisy sits cross-legged, he can see her profile as she bends over the laptop and starts typing, does her thing, her magical thing. Coulson watches and gradually the painkillers work and gradually he falls asleep watching the movements of Daisy’s quick hands, almost soothing.

When he wakes up again it’s completely dark outside.

“Feeling better?” Daisy doesn’t have to turn and look at him to know he’s awake.

He touches the arch of his ribs tentatively.

“Yeah. Or at least I’m under that illusion.”

“I set up an extraction point in an hour,” she tells him. “It’s close by.”

She puts the laptop away and turns toward him, her whole body, so she’s just actually very close to him, right by the cot.

“It’s so weird to see you wearing that,” she says. She looks enchanted for a moment, like the image fascinates her. Then she closes down, probably thinking she’s said something wrong. “I’m sorry, I should probably try to find you-”

“I like it,” Coulson interrupts her, brushing his fingertips against the worn collar, too honest. “It smells of you.”

He bits his lip but the words are already out. Betraying himself, pathetic, he misses her. He survived - he’s alive. He hasn’t really felt much like it.

Then Daisy moves, standing on her knees, bringing her hands to each of Coulson’s sides and pressing her mouth to his.

“It looks good on you,” she tells him, her voice raw, and kisses him again, deeper, tongue and fingernails.

Is it loneliness? And does Coulson care? He kisses back, holding the shape of Daisy’s back in his hand. She pushes him against the humble mattress, more scent of dried sweat, hers, he thinks, as Daisy undresses them enough - her sweater stays, understandably, her hands careful anywhere else, his injuries to think about.

“Am I hurting you?” she asks, her weight on him, fingers skimming over his ribcage.

Coulson shakes his head. Only mild discomfort mixed with confusion. Everything else warm and wonderfully strange, Daisy riding him gently while he struggles to see her face in the dark. Suddenly everything he ever knew or believed about their relationship is gone. Everything except that they love each other.

And suddenly the idea of wearing her sweater becomes unbearably erotic to him, and for once the word “erotic” doesn’t sound tired and pathetic in his mind. Well, a bit pathetic, but in a funny way, in a way it makes Coulson chuckle a little while he kisses Daisy, their bodies stretched and paused for a moment to meet halfway. She grabs him by the collar of his sweater, her sweater. It makes him come soon and hard, thinking about Daisy wearing the clothes he wears now, thinking about her gesture handing the sweater to him, her smell all over him, Daisy letting him have her smell all over him, so casually. Daisy brings her hand to her clit and gets herself off while he is inside her, and when her body untangles and goes soft she is oh so very careful not to collapse on Coulson’s chest, on his wounds, mindful even in her abandon.

They lie on the cot together, coiling and uncoiling around each other, Daisy’s toes rubbing against the hair on his ankles, over and over. Coulson bunches her hair in his hand and inhales.

He knows he’ll have to meet with the team soon. Leave this bare room behind. For now, at least. He’s not sure how he’ll be physically able to bring himself to do that. Except if that’s what Daisy wants.

“Come back?” he asks, in the tone of a suggestion, so soft, but with pleading eyes.

Daisy meets his glance. Boldly and honestly. Finally this close Coulson can see her expression.

“To that team?” she says. “I can’t.”

Coulson reaches his hand to her face, pushing stray locks of hair aside and stroking her cheek.

“To me?” he asks.

That was his first question, too, even if she misunderstood. It was never about the team.

Daisy gives him a small smile.

He hopes she knows what it takes for him to ask.

“There’s no universe in which I wouldn’t.”


End file.
